The Prince Read Online Free PDF

Emanuele III, King of Italy and Emperor of Ethiopia by the grace of God and by the will of the Nation, considering the urgent and absolute necessity to take measures, given article three—”
    â€œEnough. That’s enough, De Simone. You may go.”
    Dr. Ragusa had a whirlwind raging in his head and didn’t notice the understanding look his old friend De Simone gave him as he bowed slightly, turned, and left the room.
    Saro had been silent until then. In deference to his father, he had not intervened in the discussion. But now, seeing his father’s struggle, he sought Michele Fardella’s attention.
    â€œAre the regulations already in force?” he asked with a certain naiveté.
    â€œWhat do you think? Don’t worry about it. Doctor, Doctor, take it easy. Don’t get so excited. You know how things work here in Italy. Many laws are made, but how many are enforced? This is just one of many. The government does it on purpose. What do they say? ‘Too many laws, no law.’ ”
    From the floor below, desperate screams could be heard; then individuals yelling, a woman shouting, and frantic footfalls, as if people were running away.
    Michele Fardella leaped to his feet. A character more suited to action, he quickly grabbed a Beretta from the drawer and ran to the door. Saro followed him, while his father remained bent over the desk, envisioning a future of despair.
    From the landing, Fardella and Saro looked down and saw that a man had taken De Simone hostage in the middle of the entrance hall below, holding the old clerk with his left arm, while his right hand gripped a pistol pointed one moment at the poor clerk’s temple and the next at the crowd huddled against a wall.
    â€œNobody move! I’ll kill him, I swear to God!” the man yelled. Some of the people had their hands up; others cowered on the floor. The man was unaware of Michelle Fardella’s presence just above him.
    â€œCalm down, don’t do anything stupid, nothing’s happened yet!” Everyone’s attention turned to Fardella, who, hiding the gun behind his back, had started slowly down the stairs, followed by Saro.
    â€œStop! Stop, I said! I’ll shoot him if you don’t stop!” The man shoved the gun against De Simone’s throat.
    â€œOkay, I’ll stop. See? I’ll stop.” But Fardella kept heading down the stairs, though as slowly as possible. “Tell me, what is it I can do for you?”
    â€œYou can’t do anything. There’s nothing anyone can do now!” the desperate man cried.
    Near him stood a chubby matron who was clasping a younger woman to her. It was Mena, Rosario Losurdo’s daughter, and her governess, Nennella. Saro had seen Mena around town on other occasions and had been struck by her radiant beauty and her vivid green eyes. Now there she was, her life in danger, the madman’s gun barrel just a few feet away. Saro was afraid the man might make some reckless move.
    Jano Vassallo, stationed near the hallway door, had his hands up, as did his squad members, awaiting the right moment to act. As long as the gunman had his pistol leveled, he was careful not to move.
    Michele Fardella spoke again: “What do you want? Who do you have a complaint with?”
    At that instant, someone in the crowd inadvertently made a motion.
    The frantic gunman must have spotted it, for he turned around and fired a shot toward the ceiling as a warning. Immediately all hell broke loose, with people screaming and trying to rush out the door, knocking some to the ground. Mena and her governess also tried to escape, but the crowd shoved them, and they were separated. The girl fell, a step away from the mob. Jano and his men raced to their command center to grab their guns. Michele Fardella ducked behind the staircase’s marble balustrade, keeping his pistol aimed at the man. All he could do was yell, “Easy now! Don’t shoot! Don’t